


Demon boy, angel girl

by I_could_not_think_of_anything_cool



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adoption, Bad Parenting, Being Disowned, Child Abandonment, Fluff, Fortune Telling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Sassy, Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24422338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_could_not_think_of_anything_cool/pseuds/I_could_not_think_of_anything_cool
Summary: A fortune teller foretold that a couple would give birth to twins, where one would be good and the other would be evil. To stop people from getting hurt, the evil one would have to go. When they were born, the choice seemed easy. The couple got a blond-haired, blue-eyed angel with swan wings and a black-haired demon with horns, bat wings and a scaly tail. The couple immediately got rid of the demon and raised the angel together. But they got rid of the wrong one.Please R&R.
Relationships: Damien Prince/Sammy Huxley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Seeing Mama Beth

"This is ridiculous!" Patrick hissed, as he and his wife, Susan, stood awkwardly outside the tent of the great fortune teller, known only as Mama Beth. "Fortune telling, palm reading and all that other hippy crap belongs in the dark ages! We live in the age of scientific understanding and technology; we don't need this!"

"I just want to see if any of this is real," Susan sighed. "Honestly, stop being so uptight."

Patrick stiffened with shock, his brow furrowing with anger. "I'm being _realistic_. Believe it or not, there's a difference."

"Can I help you?" An old lady stood behind them, who couldn't be any taller than five feet tall. She leaned on an old cane, but whether or not the cane was wooden or metal, neither could tell. It was late and badly lit, so they couldn't make out much about her face or clothes.

"Are you Mama Beth?" Susan asked.

"Who's asking?" Even in the dim light, they could tell that there was a sparkle in the old woman's eye.

"Just me. I'm Susan." The younger woman stuck out a hand, which was ignored.

"I don't do shaking hands. Just come in," Mama Beth said, shuffling into the tent. Once inside, Patrick and Susan could see a little better. There was a candle burning brightly on a tiny desk, the cloth tent only shielded from the flame by the glass cup placed over it. "You want the future of your family, don't you? Give me your palms."

"Is that another word for money?" Patrick asked, confused. "How much is a palm?"

"It's another word for the flesh on your hand. I need your hands," Mama Beth replied, exasperated. Hurriedly, they each gave the soothsayer one of their hands. Susan was eager to get her future looked at. Patrick just wanted it to be over with.

"What do you see?" Patrick asked.

"I see . . . children," Mama Beth boomed, her voice becoming deeper and louder. Patrick suspected it was part of her act. "You two will produce two children. A boy and a girl. One is good. The other is evil. You have to get rid of the evil one before they get strong enough to do real damage to yourselves, themselves or others."

"Get rid of? What do you mean?" Susan's face was a picture of worry and horror. "Do we have to kill them?"

"What?!" Temporarily, Mama Beth snapped out of her trance to give the young couple a dose of reality. "I'm not telling you to kill a damn baby. Just send them away, somewhere they can't do any harm. That is all." The atmosphere between the trio began to turn stale. Their futures had already been read. There was nothing more that they could say. Patrick dug around in his pocket for some cash.

"How much do-" A hand cut off the rest of his sentence.

"Go! Just go! If I ever have to see your futures again, I'll drop dead! Go!" Mama Beth pointed at the tent flap they used to come in and shooed them away. Hurriedly, Susan and Patrick stumbled out of the tent and rushed to their car, to safety. Once they were far away from the circus they had found the old fortune teller in, they began to talk.

"Do you think she meant it?" Susan asked. "About how if she has to see our futures again, she'll drop dead?"

"Course not. She probably does that every few clients so people think she's genuine. I must admit, it was a little scary. You know, when she started screaming."

"Yeah! And did you hear what she said about us having kids?" Susan's mind had begun to wander over to the idea of having children with her beloved husband. Fear slowly became outrage. How dare some old hag, who was faking fortune telling, say that her child would grow up to be evil? That only happened when a child had terrible parents, and they could never raise a child that badly. They were good, normal people who didn't have bad things happen to them for no reason.

"Don't be silly, honey. If we have kids, they'll be perfect, like you."

"You mean like _us_ , honey."

"Yes. Like us."


	2. Three years later

It had been quite some time since Susan and Patrick had heard (and dismissed) the fortune teller's words of warning about their future children, but that was far from their minds. They were about to be parents for the first time, and they were here for the first scan. The midwife looked cheery and helpful, like someone straight out of a stock photo.

"Hello, Susan and Patrick. I take it you're here for your first scan?" the midwife asked. Susan nodded, happily getting up onto the table and allowing the midwife to scan her stomach. At twelve weeks, the pregnancy was only just beginning to show. The midwife spent the longest five minutes of their lives searching for any sign of a child in Susan's womb . . . and that was when she found them.

"You're having twins," she told them. "A boy and a girl. And . . . oh my god. Lord, help me."

"What? What is it?" Susan asked.

"Take a look," the poor woman stuttered, before quickly striding out of the room to get someone more senior. The expecting couple looked at the sonogram . . . and gasped.

The boy had a set of horns, small and sharp, bat wings and a long, thin, pointed tail. The girl, however, had a halo and angel wings that seemed to shine with an impossible glow. There was a demon and an angel living inside her womb. "Oh, Lord," Susan panicked, starting to hyperventilate. "What do we do, what do we do, what do we do? What do we tell people? My parents are very superstitious; they'll disown me if they find out I'm going to give birth to a demon."

"Honey, calm down," Patrick ordered, taking charge. "They're not going to disown you for giving birth to a demon because we won't tell them that there are twins. They'll never know. We'll only tell them about the girl, you understand?"

"Yes. We only tell them about the girl." As Susan's breathing slowly became more regular, the more she thought that Patrick's idea was perfect. The only other problem that remained was actually getting rid of the demon child. They couldn't take him. They'd be laughing stocks if they did that. The Christian couple with a demon child. Who would take them seriously? More importantly, who would take the boy from them? "Wait: who would take it?" the worried mother-to-be asked. "It's a monster. A freak of nature."

"Not the only monster, though," Patrick remembered. "There's a home for . . . kids like that, right? A special orphanage for . . . special children."

"Yes . . . there is," Susan recalled. "We can take him there and sign him over to them once he's born. The girl stays."

"What if someone finds out about the boy and asks about it?"

"Crib death. They can't prove anything."

And, just like that, they had found a way to cover up the birth of the son they didn't want. Everything seemed to be perfect again.

Just the way they liked it.


	3. The birth

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels," the nurse nervously complimented, trying not to look at what had to be their son. "You're officially parents."

Looking down at their children, both parents agreed that their daughter looked better than they could ever have imagined. Cute button nose, eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky, and skin as pale as snow. She was born without the blood and crying typically associated with birth, making her a quiet, clean baby. Swan wings sprouted from her back, every feather immaculate and fluffy. Like an actual bird's wings, her wings had no feathers yet, but Susan and Patrick trusted that they would grow in if given time. Her hair, while short, had the colour and shine of the sun. A golden halo, shining bright and strong, floated above her head. She smiled up at her parents, and Susan happily held her close to her chest. Her perfect baby.

The boy, however, was even more hideous than they had feared. He came into the world kicking and screaming, his leathery bat wings flapping uselessly. Ebony tresses clung limply to his head, matted by pieces of afterbirth and amniotic fluid. His eyes were red like fire and blood. A scaly black tail, thin with a triangle-shaped point, twitched like a dying person about to breathe their last. Black stubs grew on either side of his forehead, and everyone knew that they would become horns someday, large and terrifying. His own mother winced at the sight of him. His father looked away with disappointment and shame.

"Take it away. My mother and my friends are coming soon, and I don't want them to see it. Remember, we only told them about the girl," Susan hissed.

"Right," Patrick replied, taking his son into another room. He flagged a nurse down and gestured to his son.

"He's hungry and my wife is becoming weak. Could you feed him?" Patrick asked.

"Of course," she replied, whisking the demon child away. Patrick let out a sigh of relief as he went to rejoin his friends, family and wife. His mother-in-law scooped him up and hugged him, then Susan.

"Thank you both so much for giving me such an amazing granddaughter," she gushed. "Have you thought of a name yet?"

"No, not really. Any ideas?" Susan asked.

"Jennifer," her mother eagerly butted in. But they all knew it wouldn't fit the new baby. She just . . . didn't look like a Jennifer.

"You should call her Angelica," one friend suggested. "Angelica the angel." Everyone quickly agreed.

"It's perfect. Thank you," Patrick smiled.

"Once you're discharged, bring little Angelica to my church to be christened," the new grandmother insisted. "An angel on Earth! She is destined for great things, Susan, mark my words."

"Oh, we know," Patrick smiled, staring down at his now asleep infant daughter. "Trust me, we know."

Once the visitors had gone, Susan and Patrick wondered what to name their son. "What do we name the boy?" Susan asked.

"Easy. We call him Lucifer."

"We can't name him that! What will people think of us?"

"It fits, though. Lucifer is the king of hell. We're basically naming a demon after another demon, and he's a demon."

"Did you say Damien? We can call him that."

"No, but that fits too, because Damien sounds like demon. We'll never forget the shame of creating him, so he shall live with the name Damien, to remind everyone that he is a demon and he is evil."

"Of course, honey. He is called Damien."


	4. After the birth

After the birth, the new parents drove to the only orphanage for abnormal children (officially named St George's Children's Orphanage for Metahuman Children), ready to dispose of their little burden. "Are you sure this is the place?" Patrick asked, looking at the bleak, stone building they had parked in front of. "Maybe we gave the GPS the wrong address or-"

"No, this is the place. Let's go in," Susan snapped, taking charge and marching inside, their unwanted son inside a car seat. Angelica stayed in the car, as docile as the day she was born . . . literally. They had concocted a sob story to give to whoever asked, that story being that they couldn't take care of the baby because they were penniless. So very touching.

So very fake.

"Can I help you?" the young woman behind the desk greeted, an artificial smile on her face as she addressed the couple.

"We're here to give up our . . . er, son," Patrick admitted. The word son felt foreign, sour, like it wasn't supposed to be on his lips. He shook the feeling off pretty quickly. He wouldn't be his son for long.

"OK, I'll just need to give you these forms to sign," the care worker told the couple, reaching downwards where a sheaf of papers would probably be.

"Already done them," Susan responded, feeling rather smug. Noticing the confused look on the young lady's face, she quickly changed to a look of faux sadness. "We could tell that we couldn't take care of that poor baby, so we made arrangements in advance to get him a good home, even if that good home won't have us in it." They hoped against hope itself that the stone-faced woman behind the front desk believed their sob story.

"You've made the right choice," the woman replied, taking their son and placing him behind the desk. "I just need you both to sign these legal documents stating that you give up all legal right to-" she checked the birth certificate they had brought along with them to find out his name "Damien, and that's basically it."

Eagerly and without a second thought or a glance at Damien, they signed the paperwork, making the unlucky infant a ward of the city. All legal documents were kept by the care worker and the carefree couple simply waltzed away. Damien, sensing that his parents were leaving and he was being abandoned, began to wail and cry, forcing the care worker to pick him up in an attempt to soothe him. Upon closer inspection, she saw tiny growths on either side of his forehead, which seemed to resemble horns. As she rubbed his lower back to ease his infantile wails, she felt a tail. Holding it between forefinger and thumb, she noticed that it was long, thin and black, with an arrow-shaped tip. From his upper back, obsidian bat wings sprouted; they were small, but they would certainly grow with him. She looked out of a window overlooking the car park Damien's ex-parents had parked in, and watched their flashy new Mercedes-Benz back out of the parking spot, back out of their infant son's life. It was never about money. It was about pride and making sure they didn't have to give any of it up because of their embarrassment of a child. She'd heard it all before.

 _Poor little guy,_ she thought, staring at Damien's tear-streaked face. _Your birth parents were just another set of middle-class parents who don't want to deal with raising a child because he doesn't look the way they want him to. Shallow people don't deserve kids. But plenty others do, and they would love to have you._


	5. Homecoming - Angelica

Damien's twin sister, Angelica Daniels, who was being raised by her proud biological parents, was being paraded around the neighbourhood. "It's a miracle! Our daughter is an angel sent down to us from heaven by God himself!" Susan proclaimed, to the agreement of the neighbours. These neighbours were so shocked, they brought their spouses and children to gawp at the angel. One curious child poked Angelica's stomach trying to get a reaction out of her . . . and that was when all hell broke loose.

An unearthly screech seemed to shake the skies as Angelica bawled. The offending child shrank back with terror, and the angel's overprotective mother swooped in to survey the situation.

"Who hurt my daughter?" Susan growled. The curious child admitted to it immediately.

"I just wanted to play with her," he whimpered, barely audible over the screams of Angelica. His mother stormed over, smacked him, and dragged him away.

"I'm so sorry about this," the boy's mother shamefully muttered, as she and her son went home in disgrace. Tutting at their retreating backs, Susan turned back to her daughter.

"You don't need to worry about that nasty boy and his horrible mother any more. Mama's here to make it all better with some more toys and some special milk," Susan cooed. "How does that sound?"

A big smile stretched across Angelica's little face.


	6. Homecoming - Damien

Damien would stay at the orphanage for only two weeks before being adopted by an open-minded young couple named Victor and Star. When they took him home, the first thing they did was change his surname from Daniels (his birth surname) to Prince (their surname). Their two other adopted children, Beatrix and Xavier (fraternal twins, then aged 3) crowded around him.

"He's so cute!" Beatrix gushed, staring at Damien as he slept in his bassinet. "Can I hold him?"

"Of course," Victor agreed, scooping Damien up and allowing his daughter to hold her new little brother. As she held the infant, time seemed to stand still. Both older children, in that moment, made a silent pact to be the best big brother and best big sister to him that they could be.

"Can Mama have the baby back now, Bea?" Star asked. Beatrix nodded and gave Damien back to her parents.

"Bye, bye, baby brother," Xavier whispered, as he watched Damien go upstairs to his new room.


	7. Damien and Angelica, aged five

Despite the twins growing up in the same city, they led very different lives and were taught very different lessons by their parents. Angelica was showered in praise and affection no matter what she did, while Damien had to earn respect and love, working harder than other kids because of his horns and wings. Damien was disciplined for his wrongdoings; Angelica never heard the word no.

At age five, Angelica found the best way to have fun.

Two neighbourhood girls were playing outside when Angelica decided that she wanted to join them. So she got changed into a cute set of purple overalls and pink shirt, tied her blonde hair back into adorable little pigtails and skipped over. They suspected nothing.

"Can I play?" Angelica asked, in her sweetest voice. The dominant girl, a brunette, agreed.

"Yeah," she decided. "We're going to be playing tag. And you're it!" Giggling, the two girls ran as fast and as far away from Angelica as they could. Angelica started seething. She hated playing tag, and she especially hated being it. She was going to get them. She set her sights on the second girl, a black-haired girl who was a little on the short side. She ran over to this girl and pushed her to the ground. From there, she kicked and punched the innocent girl until she was crying on the floor. The brunette came running back to see if her friend was OK, and that was when she saw Angelica hitting her.

"Get away from her!" she yelled, pushing Angelica away. The angel fell backwards over the crying girl's body, and the brunette's mother came over to see what was going on. She saw two girls on the floor, and the only one still standing was her daughter.

"Lucy! What have you done?" the woman boomed. Lucy looked at the chaos and tried to explain.

"It wasn't me! It was Angelica!" Lucy babbled.

"Don't lie to me!" Lucy's mother snapped, dragging both Lucy and her friend away. "Young lady, you have no idea how much trouble you are in!"

Angelica watched as the two girls were taken away by the woman. Once they were out of her sight and out of earshot, she started to laugh. It was an evil laugh that erupted out of her and seemed to have no place on her small, fragile frame. This little angel had just found a new kind of fun.

* * *

At age five, Damien found the best way to have fun.

"Come back here!" Beatrix yelled, as Damien ran away from them, giggling hysterically. His most recent crime against older siblings was eating the last cookie that they were saving for tomorrow, and she and Xavier wanted the little devil to pay. Panting for air, he ran upstairs and hid under his parents' bed, hoping that they wouldn't find him. That hope was short-lived. He saw two pairs of feet enter his parents' room looking for him, and he was forced to stifle a giggle.

"Where's little Damien gone? I thought I saw him come in here," Beatrix sighed.

"Maybe he's in the wardrobe," Xavier suggested, flinging the wardrobe door open. "Oh. He's not there."

"Or behind the curtain?" Beatrix proposed, pulling back the curtain. "He's not here, either." Damien couldn't take it any more, and he started giggling uncontrollably.

"I think he's giving us clues with his giggling," Xavier cooed, the twins getting dangerously close to Damien's hiding spot. A hand grabbed his ankle and dragged him out, the young devil squirming and holding onto tufts of carpet as much as he could. But resistance would prove fruitless, and he was soon brought to face his older siblings, who had figured out the best way to deal with him.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Damien howled, as Beatrix and Xavier tickled him senseless. "NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!"

"This is the best thing about a little brother; you can tickle him whenever you want," Beatrix grinned. "And Damien is really, really ticklish."

"Can I tickle his wings? They make him squeal so much!" Xavier pleaded. Beatrix nodded, and Xavier let his fingers scribble over Damien's leathery wings. The screams of laughter felt and sounded sweet. "Who's a ticklish little devil, huh? You are!"

"NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOT TICKLI-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" All protest had collapsed, and Xavier got to play with his little brother's ticklish wings as much as he wanted. Beatrix toyed with her brother's surprisingly human feet, playing 'this little piggy' with his toes. Soon, the youngest of the three began to weaken, and his vision blurred as tears of mirth clouded his eyes. "No . . . more. I promise I won't eat the last cookie ever again."

"Of course you won't, little devil," Beatrix replied. "Come on, Xavier." They picked Damien up and carried him to the room he shared with Xavier. Exhausted after the day's activities, he fell asleep. The last thing on his mind was: that was fun.


	8. Damien and Angelica, age ten

At age ten, Angelica learned how to deal with kids her age.

She glared at yet another boy pulling her hair in class. He had no idea how much effort was put into making it look so good. Silently seething, she waited for class to be dismissed so she could exact her revenge.

On the playground, she could hear girls giggling and looking at her. She was no doubt the target of their mockery. As she went over various methods of torture in her head, she felt a beanbag hit her head, eventually falling to the floor with a splat.

"I got it through the hoop-thingy! What do I win?" a boy giggled, while his friend laughed. Angelica couldn't take it any more, and marched over to the offending boys.

"What was that for?" Angelica snapped.

"It was just a game; no need to choke on your own halo," the second boy huffed. Angelica couldn't take it, and used her powers for the first time. A sinister hold took over the students, who had been minding their own business until this happened. One by one, kids began gasping for air, choking for apparently no reason. They fell to their knees, crying and begging with what little air they had left.

"Listen up, cowards," Angelica ordered. "You have messed with me for the last time. From now on, all of you had better stay out of my way. Because if you don't, all of you will wish you'd never been born." Satisfied that she had made her point, the angel stopped tormenting innocent people and walked away from the chaos she had caused. People jumped out of her way, utterly terrified of her.

She now knew that nobody would even think about getting in her way.

A few kids tried to get her in trouble the normal way, by telling on her. But nobody believed them.

"You have to believe me! She made everyone choke in the playground!" a plucky student wailed. Their friends backed them up.

"A likely story!" a teacher sneered. "Angelica couldn't hurt a fly."

"She did! She really did!" they insisted. The teacher's face hardened into a glare.

"We do not tolerate lies in this school. All of you, go to the principal's office," the teacher ordered. Begrudgingly, they did as they were told. From the back of the classroom, Angelica grinned. Yet another small victory under her belt.

* * *

At age ten, Damien learned how to deal with kids his age.

"Why do you look so weird?" one girl asked, as her friends backed away from him. "I've never met a person with horns before. You look kind of like a goat."

"I was born like this. There's nothing I can do about it. Why do you sound so mean?" Damien asked.

"I don't sound mean!" she snapped. "I don't like you. We're leaving." Letting out a huff, she and her friends left Damien alone. Damien giggled. This was funny!

At lunch, Damien sat alone, eating his lunch. Kids were usually too weirded out to bother him, and he appreciated the solitude it gave him. But there were days where he wanted someone to talk to. He got a chance to do so when the rare occasion came that someone picked on him.

"Nice jacket, weirdo. Mind if I borrow it for a little while?" a bully snapped, grabbing Damien's jacket to show off to his friends.

Big mistake.

Damien wore a jacket all the time to hide his bat wings and tail, which he kept hidden under thick, heavy clothing. He had heard complaints from the neighbours about his demonic appearance time and time again, and in the spirit of getting the neighbours to shut up, he wore a thick jacket outside to hide his wings and tucked his tail into his trouser leg. But now the jacket was gone, there was nothing keeping him from hiding them, like he normally did.

The bully's mouth hung open and a dark spot grew on the front of his pants as Damien's wings flexed and stretched, free from their fabric prison at long last. A tail lazily swished from side to side. His eyes, red as fire, flashed with rage.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," Damien growled. Terrified, the bully gave him his jacket back and ran off, his friends close behind. But although he had his jacket back, he didn't feel like wearing it any more. Instead, he slung it over his shoulder and just went for a stroll around the playground. Other than the stares and whispers, nothing super bad was happening . . . until a boy his age ran up to him. He had chocolate brown skin and eyes like droplets of honey. His hair was ebony black and grew straight up into an afro. Damien stopped in his tracks.

"Your wings look so cool!" he babbled.

"Oh . . . thank you," Damien muttered, blushing. Nobody had ever complimented his wings before.

"Can I touch them?" Damien smiled and nodded.

"OK," Damien agreed, sitting down so he could touch every part of his wings. It tickled a little, but Damien bit his tongue and dealt with it. Besides, he seemed nice and the demon didn't want to ruin it by squirming. Eventually, he relaxed and learned to love it . . . until the bell rang.

"I'm going to be late!" the boy blurted out, getting his stuff and running away. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

"Where do you want to go?" Damien asked.

"Registration. Second floor," he replied. "Wait, why do you- OH MY GOD!" Damien had grabbed him and his stuff and taken off, heading to the second floor. But instead of taking him there via the stairs, he just went up, flying a boy he barely knew to his classroom. "HELP!" the terrified boy screamed.

"I won't drop you," Damien soothed. "Oh, look, an open window! Is this your classroom?"

"Yes!" he stammered. "Just put me down!" Damien flew to the wide open window and just jumped through it, taking the boy and himself through it. The class stared as the boy took his seat. Meanwhile, Damien just walked out of his classroom like nothing happened. But before he left, he had a question to ask.

"Hey, little guy, what's your name?" Damien asked.

"Sammy. I'm Sammy Huxley," the boy replied.

"Damien Prince," Damien replied, sticking his hand out. Sammy shook it. "Bye, Sammy." That handshake signified the connection between the scariest, most confusing kid the school had to offer and an utter nobody. That was the last day anyone dared to tease either Damien or Sammy. It was also the first friend he'd ever made at school. People weren't actually that bad.


	9. Damien and Angelica, age fifteen

At age fifteen, Angelica learned how to treat other people.

"Hey, kid, could you spare any change?" a homeless man asked.

"Get away from my daughter! You can beg for your next fix from someone else!" Susan snapped, kicking him away. He looked to them with a hurt expression on his face before hobbling away.

"You're going to get your homeless person stink all over my family!" Patrick snapped, as he and his wife shepherded their daughter away from him.

"What was that?" Angelica asked.

"That, my little kitten, was a homeless guy. They're only homeless because of things like drugs and alcohol, so stay away from them," Patrick explained. "Also, they're too lazy to get jobs."

"They'll just introduce you to bad things and if you give them anything, they'll spend it all at once," Susan added. "We don't want our little princess picking up bad habits."

"Oh," Angelica replied.

The family continued walking, and passed a trailer park. Children played in the dirt with no shoes. Adults watched them while chain smoking cigarettes. Susan and Patrick turned up their noses at them.

"Trailer trash," Patrick muttered. "Half of them are probably screwing their cousins, for all we know."

"And the kids are going to turn out just like their parents: absolutely worthless and leeching off our taxes," Susan griped. Angelica pretended not to hear them, but secretly stored all this knowledge for later use. A few kids at her school lived in a trailer park; she could use this to her advantage. The trio walked faster to avoid such disgraceful behavior. And then they came across a fat lady out with her husband.

"Lazy cow," Susan muttered. "Spends all day stuffing her fat face, clearly."

"I don't know how her husband puts up with her," Patrick muttered.

The family walked for a little while longer, and it seemed like there was something bad to say about everyone. The lesbian couple drinking coffee were sneered at behind their backs.

"Those sinners are going against nature with their lifestyle."

"At least they can't have kids."

They saw a guy with full sleeves of tattoos and a vicious looking bulldog and crossed the street to avoid him.

"The moment our backs are turned, he'll try giving a little kid drugs."

"How long do you think he served in prison?"

Angelica listened to what her parents said and silently agreed. These people were tainted and worthless, useless specimens that the world would be better off without. She, however, was an angel, and worth a million of those losers. Obviously, if she was really as good as her parents said she was, then she should get rid of them all. She would basically be doing the world a favour. And if her parents were right, it wasn't like they would be missed.

* * *

At age fifteen, Damien learned how to treat other people.

"Why are we sorting through old clothes again?" Beatrix whined. "Can't we throw them away?"

"I told you, we're donating them to charity. Someone might love these," Star explained.

"But we have loads of clothes to go through," Xavier pointed out.

"Nicer problems to have," Damien told him. "Mum, do you think they'll be able to repair my shirts? Most of them have holes in them for my wings."

"Of course they will," Star soothed. "Oh, Damien, I'm so proud of you. You're becoming such a nice young man."

"OK, Mum, let's go," Beatrix sighed. Damien and Star helped load boxes of clothes into the boot of the car. On the car ride there, Damien began to worry.

"I'm worried, Mum. What if they don't like me because I look like the devil?" Damien asked.

"I told them about you so they knew what to expect. Besides, they get all sorts at a community centre. Let's go." Star smiled nervously and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before shepherding her three kids into the car.

"Hello, Star. Oh, you shouldn't have!" the flamboyant man at the door gushed. "And who are these three?"

"These are my kids," Star explained. "They offered to help."

"Do any of these three have names?" he asked.

"I'm Damien. Pleasure to meet you," Damien introduced.

"I'm Beatrix." She waved politely to let the man know who she was.

"I'm Xavier," Beatrix's twin replied.

"My name is Kenny, pleasure to meet you," the man at the door introduced. "Would you like to work in the garden? There are some flowers that need planting."

"I'll do it," Damien volunteered. "Never gardened before. It might be fun."

"That's the spirit! You'll be staying with one of our regular volunteers, Sammy. He'll show you the ropes," Kenny explained. "The garden's straight ahead, and take the first right turn. You can't miss it."

"Thanks, Kenny," Damien smiled, nervously smiling as he made his way to the garden. Surely he didn't mean Sammy as in Sammy Huxley, his best friend. They had hung out every day, ever since he had flown Sammy to his classroom. With him, Damien felt confident enough to never even try to cover up his wings again. He also had other friends, people who thought that he was actually pretty cool. They were all like him, kids born with powers science couldn't explain. The scientific term was biologically divergent. Typically, they were called metahumans. Mutant was used as a derogatory term to insult metahumans. Otis was a telepath, able to peer into people's thoughts and memories. Penelope was able to talk to and understand animals. Antonia could change the size of anything she wanted. Andromeda could manipulate electricity, electrical currents and technology. Along with him and Sammy, they were the Inexplicable Six. Well, more like the Inexplicable Five. Sammy didn't seem to have any powers.

The demonic-looking teenager quietly padded over to the garden, expecting to see Sammy struggle with a bag of manure. What he didn't expect was to see Sammy revive a dead plant by breathing on it. "S-Sammy?" The boy jumped, stumbling backwards and falling on his back.

"Damien!" Sammy's eyes were darting around the garden, desperate to look anywhere but there. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"I didn't know you could do this," Damien replied. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It's a girly power," Sammy sighed.

"It's a cool power. You could use this to plant trees and help save the Earth!" Damien replied, desperate to reassure his friend.

"I can't use it to look cool, like you guys do," Sammy pointed out. "You can fly and summon anything you want out of a magic portal thing! Antonia can make herself bigger than the whole school if she wants! Otis can read minds! This is worthless! All it does is make a few plants grow and turn my hair green!" True to his word, Sammy's curly hair had streaks of green that shone like well-kept grass. The green streaks were like little blades of grass and the gnarled twigs of bushes.

Damien facepalmed. "What part of 'you could use it to reverse global warming' did you not listen to? Besides, this suits you."

Sammy looked unconvinced. "Really?"

"Yeah. You're always taking care of things, taking care of us. It makes sense that your superpower is taking care of something."

"I guess you're right." There was an awkward silence, before Sammy broke it.

"Thanks. I needed that."

"You're welcome," Damien exclaimed. Sammy beamed, hugging Damien and then reaching past him for some basil and a packet of sunflower seeds.

"Right. So, we need to plant these basil first and then the sunflower seeds, but not in the same place," Sammy explained. Damien listened intently, nodding in all the right places. "Let's get started, you literal handsome devil!"

"Did you just call me handsome?" Damien asked, blushing.

"So what if I did?" Sammy teased. Damien looked away, his face as red as his eyes. He worked in silence, flushing every time he thought about Sammy calling him handsome.

This was such a shock to hear. Even though they knew Damien was gay, he'd always thought that Sammy was straight. But as he saw how Sammy looked at him when he thought that Damien wasn't looking, he began to wonder. Maybe Sammy had been hiding a few things from him.

And maybe he had been hiding a few things from Sammy, too.

On the car ride home, he asked his mother why so many people came to a community centre.

"Well, some of them like to have a place to meet friends. Some need somewhere to go to get away from their problems. Some of them want to be involved in the community, so they help out with fundraisers here. But whatever you do, don't judge anyone. Everyone you know is fighting a battle that you know nothing about. That's why it's so important to be kind." Star finished with a quiet, exhausted sigh as she relaxed into the car seat, taking her three children home.

Damien listened to everything his mother said and silently agreed. He had spent his life being judged by people who thought that since he was a demon, he was evil and couldn't be trusted, when he had no intention to harm anyone. So, to stop people from thinking less of him based on appearance, he would devote his life to helping people.


	10. True evil

Once the twins turned twenty, the truly evil one of the pair was exposed.

The day had come where the old fortune teller's last ever prophecy, now forgotten by the people she told it to, would show which one was evil. Damien was working as a security guard, after he had realized that he looked utterly terrifying and he could use that to his advantage. Also, being able to send people to the other end of the city using demon portals was something his employer appreciated greatly. He had a boyfriend, his best friend from childhood, Sammy. They'd started dating once they left school and, all in all, Damien had a happy life. He wasn't rich, but he had everything he wanted and needed. A boyfriend, a place to stay, a job he loved that paid decent wages and good friends. Damien's parents didn't care that he was dating a boy, and neither did Sammy's. Sammy didn't care that he had horns, wings and a tail, and Damien didn't care that Sammy's powers weren't badass. Sammy thought his powers were cool and not evil, like so many people had before him, and whenever Sammy made an offhand remark about his powers being weak, Damien was there to tell him that he was perfect. Sammy was the person who answered the door to priests that had been called to the house to exorcise the evil spirit living there. Damien was the person who scared people away from bullying Sammy using his generally terrifying presence and powers. They were each other's spare parts, and they loved it that way.

Angelica's life, however, had gone in a very different direction. She was working in a Christian daycare looking after small children, and she hated it. She hated how they cried, she hated that she had no free time, and she hated the drippy nursery rhymes and hymns that she had to sing with them when they came in and when they had snack time and when they had to clean up their toys and when it was Sunday. She saw the kids she had bullied earlier in life get better jobs than her, get married, start families and generally live a happier existence than her, and she hated it even more. She had no partner, no children, and she still lived with her parents because she wasn't paid enough to get her own place. Of course, her parents thought that her job looking after small children was perfect for an angel, and they worshipped the ground she walked on, overlooking all her faults and flaws like they had done before. They bragged about how perfect she was, working with children and teaching about the only proper way of life. After a long day of work, Angelica liked to roam the city and make people's lives hell, to make up for the fact that her life felt like hell. She would focus more and more on the people that her parents taught her to look down on, specifically trailer parks and the people who lived in them. Why did they get to be happy? Why did they even get to be? They were degenerates, parasites. Taking valuable resources and giving nothing of value back. They should be wiped out forever!

One day, she snapped. She decided that, as a holy, pure angel, she should be the one to get rid of it. She bought two canisters of petrol and a lighter and snuck over to the trailer park in the middle of the night, where sleep had taken hold. The lights were out and a blanket of silence had been draped over them. Snickering, Angelica poured the canisters of petrol around and on the trailers, making sure that the entrances and exits were covered by the flammable substance.

Nobody, she thought, had the right to leave and escape their fate.

Once she used up every last drop of petrol, she then took the lighter and threw it at the trailer park. As the first flame shot up from the ground, she grinned an evil grin, and as she heard the first scream of terror, she laughed a sadistic, deep, booming laugh. Remembering that the canisters may be used to find her identity, she threw them into the bushes, thinking that they would be hidden and her identity concealed until she could take them away to be destroyed. She threw the lighter down the drain. Then, snapping her fingers, she went home.

Damien, who lived in a block of flats overlooking the trailer park, was woken up by faint screams. He looked out of the window to see where they were coming from and gasped as he saw that the trailer park was on fire. He raced to the phone and called for help.

"Hello? I need fire and probably ambulance. The trailer park I live next to on Irving Street has caught fire. All of it is on fire. There are people there. They need help now!" Damien babbled.

"Who are you, sir?" the operator asked.

"I'm Damien. Damien Prince. These people need help. How long will it take to get a fire engine and an ambulance there?"

The operator seemed to hesitate. "About half an hour. Possibly more. Just hold on."

"I can't! They can't!" Damien looked to the carnage one more time before making his mind up. "I can't talk any more. Just bring the ambulances and fire engines." He hung up and went out of the flats, still wearing pyjamas and a pair of his boots that he found near the door. He ran out and surveyed the situation. People were trying to get out, but couldn't. Some people were filming the situation, other people seemed like they wanted to help, but were scared. Terrified, Damien went into the flames after spotting a mother, her child and a baby in the woman's arm . . . and realizing that he felt nothing. He was impervious to flames. Emboldened, he kicked the door down and reached out for the family, who went with him, terrified. Once they were out of there, they ran off. Damien went around kicking people's door down and dragging people out. He couldn't save a lot of them, since many had already died, but the ones he could help were grateful and came with him. He was making steady progress . . . until he got to the second to last trailer. This trailer was occupied by a middle-aged man who didn't take kindly to Damien helping him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, trying to get his saviour out of his way. "Holy shit, the devil! You're not taking me!" He punched the good Samaritan in the head, knocking him to the ground. "Get lost!" He literally walked over the wounded devil, paying him no mind as he lay there, groaning with pain. Shaking the pain off, Damien staggered over to the last trailer and used the last of his strength to rip the door open so they could get out. Then he collapsed.

Fire and ambulance came almost an hour after Damien collapsed, taking him away to be treated at a hospital. "Sir, what's your name?" a first responder asked.

"Damien Prince," Damien muttered. "Someone get Sammy. Please get Sammy."

"Who's Sammy, sir?" a medic asked.

"My boyfriend. I want him here. Please get Sammy," Damien murmured, before passing out. He was taken to hospital, where he was checked for the usual things concerning a fire. Smoke inhalation, burns. But he had none, save for singed clothes. His injuries consisted of a blow to the head and a sprained wing, which would need to be kept in a splint for a while. Incredibly lucky, all things considered. As the ambulance crew dealt with him, the fire department put out the flames and took the people away to a homeless shelter. The chief of the fire department, surveying the tragic scene, felt that something wasn't right. That the fire had a sort of method to its madness. On a whim, she crouched down and sniffed the ground, taking the acrid smell of petrol into her lungs. This was arson.

"Boss?" a rookie asked. "What are you doing?"

"Call the police, and don't touch anything. I think this is arson," she ordered. She then got up and went through the bushes, searching for proof.

"Should I be worried?" another firefighter asked.

"Nah, she's on a roll," his colleague grinned. Just after he said this, they heard a shout of triumph.

"Found it!" She grinned at them. "I'm staying here with them. Don't touch them."

"With what?" a disgruntled veteran asked, walking over. Once he saw what was at his boss's feet, he backed up.

Two empty petrol canisters, most likely covered in the arsonist's fingerprints.


	11. Hospital

At the hospital, Sammy was berating Damien for doing something that could have gotten him killed so easily. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?" Sammy snapped. "I woke up to a phone call from an unidentified number, and that was when I noticed you were gone. For the love of God, do I have to tie you to the bed so you stay put?"

"You wanna try tying me up? Cool, where are the handcuffs?" Damien cooed. An unfortunately close nurse choked on his laughter.

"Out of curiosity, what medicine did you give him and how much?" Sammy asked a doctor.

"We didn't give him any medicine, that's the concussion talking," the doctor replied.

The taller of the two pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. So he's concussed and an idiot."

"Sammy, you're mean," Damien moaned, slightly delirious. "It's because I scared you, isn't it? I'm the one that did the dumb thing and I should have told you first. I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'll be a good little demon for you, I promise."

"You sure you didn't give him anything?" Sammy asked the doctor.

"Positive," she reiterated. "It appears that Damien has no injuries consistent with a fire at all. None, despite being found in the middle of an inferno. He's . . . fireproof."

"I am?" Damien blurted out. "Cool! Once I'm better, I wanna try that walking on hot coals thing!"

"No, no, no! You are not walking anywhere alone again!" Sammy snapped, on the verge of a heart attack. "God knows I can't trust you to not do something stupid."

"Wait; you trusted me?" Damien asked.

"I used to, until you did this," Sammy snapped. "You are staying home until you are better. I'll tell your boss that you won't be coming in."

"Thank you," Damien sighed. "Are the people OK?"

"What people?" Sammy asked. "Damien, what do you mean?"

"The people in the fire. I got them out. Are they OK?" Damien murmured.

"I don't know," Sammy admitted. "Just concentrate on getting better, OK?" The subdued demon nodded, pouting into the sheets. Wanting to laugh at the childish behaviour but being unable to, the doctor found a solution. Damien and Sammy weren't the only superpowered ones in that ward.

"This must stay strictly confidential, but I can help you," the doctor proposed. "You'll have to hold still for a little while, OK?" Damien nodded, and watched as blue sparkles rose from her hands, travelling to his wing and head. The demon started squirming and shaking his head. "Sir, are you in pain? If so, I can stop immediately." Damien shook his head, giggling.

"It tickles!" Damien squealed, giggling hysterically. "Plehehehease, stop her! Sammy!" Sammy disagreed.

"I'm not stopping her from doing her job, you big demonic baby," Sammy teased. "Oh, playing with your ticklish little body will be so much fun once we get home. And just when I thought that you'd grown out of this."

"Sahahahahahahammy!" the devil squealed, squirming in his hospital bed. His boyfriend grinned and held him tight, letting a few of his own fingers poke and prod the demon's torso. Damien squeaked and thrashed from the torment he was put through, giggling frantically. The poor guy wasn't going to have any breaks from his loving boyfriend, and the doctor wouldn't stop, either. She was just doing her job. And although Damien complained and tried to get away, he couldn't deny that his wing felt like it was being healed. And the concussion was going away, although he had a bit of a headache.

"And . . . done!" she announced, making the sparks fade away. "This will be our little secret, OK?"

"OK," Sammy agreed.

"Fine," Damien sputtered. The doctor left, leaving the boyfriends alone with each other.

"I'm not letting you live this down, you know," Sammy reminded. "Once I get you home, you're mine to play with."

"Shut up."


	12. Arrest and discovery

It was good old fashioned detective work that led the police to Angelica Daniels. She hadn't been as sneaky as she thought, and the entire act of arson was caught on CCTV. They came for her at a neighbourhood barbeque, with the entire street there to watch them. It had been a happy occasion earlier, but people's smiles were beginning to fade at the sight of them. The happy chatter was becoming quieter.

"Excuse me, do you know where Angelica Daniels is?" a male police officer asked a terrified neighbour. She simply pointed at Angelica, who stood still, like a deer caught in headlights. "Thank you." The two police officers strode over, a righteous purpose in their walk. Angelica simply played innocent, the way she'd done all her life. The only difference was that this time, she wasn't a little girl and nobody believed her.

"Miss Daniels, where were you last night between the hours of 11:30 that night and 1:00 in the morning?" the female police officer asked. Angelica let out an unladylike scoff, turning to her parents for validation . . . and then realizing that they were too scared to back her up. This wasn't a lowly teacher, or an angry parent. This was a police officer, who could and would arrest them. They couldn't deny their way out of this.

"I was at home. Can you go now?" Angelica waved them off, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the officers. She was done with them.

But they weren't done with her.

"We still need to talk to you, miss, since I know that you're lying and you know that you're lying, and we have proof that you're lying," the female officer replied.

"Namely, the CCTV footage of you covering the floor of the trailer park in petrol before setting it on fire," her colleague supplied. "We'll need to talk to you more. Down at the station."

"What?" Angelica spluttered.

"Come with us," the female officer instructed, as she led Angelica to a police car. "Angelica Daniels, I am arresting you on suspicion of arson and murder." Handcuffs clicked shut around her wrists, and the angel looked to her distraught parents one more time as she was placed into the police car. Her mother sobbing, her father trying not to cry himself and the street party decidedly ruined, the police officers drove away.

* * *

"Our daughter!" Susan wailed, pacing up and down. "Our angel daughter, a murderer!"

"Don't worry, love. We'll get through this. We have God on our side!" Patrick tried to reassure his wife, but she was having none of it.

"Don't you get it? People will think that we are bad parents. They won't want to talk to us, won't invite us to anything . . . oh, I can't do this any more." She collapsed onto the sofa and turned on the TV. "I'm gonna watch the news."

But she couldn't escape her reality, even from the mind-numbing drone of TV. There she saw a still image of her daughter starting what became a fatal act of arson, and her mugshot with her name underneath it. That made her wipe away tears in her eyes. The next thing she saw made her and her husband sit up with shock and take notice.

"And here, we have a hero from the unlikeliest of places. Damien Prince was the hero of the hour, being the one to call 999, only to decide that they were taking too long and saving thirteen people before emergency services showed up," the news reporter smiled. "Looking back, you have to appreciate how ironic it is. An angel killed people, and a demon saved them. And just when I thought angels were the kind ones."

A picture of Damien was placed on screen, and the couple looked at each other in shock. "That's him! That's the boy!" Susan squeaked. "He saved those people!"

"And?" Patrick was unimpressed. "How will that get Angelica out of prison?"

"We can say that he is our son so people respect us!" Susan looked to him with a wild, optimistic gleam in her eye. "You don't want us to end up like the Wattersons, do you?" The eldest Watterson boy was in jail for burglary and his parents had never recovered from the shame of it. Patrick shook his head at the thought, horrified of social rejection. "Then we need to see him! Tell him that we're his real parents!"

The man's jaw dropped. "But - but he's still a demon!"

"I don't care!" Susan growled, pressing her face close to her husband's and watching as his will melted, his desires replaced with hers. "Either we have a demon child or we have no child at all."


	13. Media appeal

Of course, after something as shocking as an unprovoked arson attack on a community of people close to a good neighbourhood, the media descended onto the Daniels family like a pack of pigeons that had seen a chunk of food on the floor. They flocked to their door, shouting questions at them as they did their best not to look at the reporters as they screamed, or the neighbours as they watched the scene through gaps in their curtains and blinds.

"Would you like to say anything about the incident, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels?" a reporter asked.

"Did your daughter show any warning signs?" a second asked.

"Do you think she did it?"

Susan listened to the reporters shouting questions, anger festering and bubbling away, until it exploded outwards and poured out of her mouth.

"You're only talking about our daughter, the villain, but you never talk about our son, the hero!" Susan yelled. The reporters stopped, and that allowed Susan to continue talking. "Our son was the one who saved lots of people's lives!"

"Damien is your son?" an investigator asked. Patrick nodded, speaking up.

"Yes! And a DNA test will prove it!" he asserted. "Goodbye." They then left for their weekly church service, leaving the hubbub of the media reporters behind. They figured that would be all they would hear about it for a little while. But they had already caused a serious stir, especially for Damien and Sammy, as they watched the evening news.

"What?! The parents of the woman that killed those people are apparently also my parents?" Damien spluttered.

"Yeah, I find it hard to believe, too. You look nothing like them," Sammy replied. "It explains the hair, but where on earth did you get the horns from?"

"Shut up." Damien turned away from his boyfriend, pouting. But he didn't mean it. Sammy knew he didn't mean it, because his lips curled upwards into a smile.

"They also said something about a DNA test. People are going to want to talk to you," Sammy sighed. Damien nodded, looking glum. "But that's something we can think about later. Come on, you. Bed." Nodding, Damien went upstairs to the bedroom, a hand slipping closer and closer to his ass with every step.


	14. DNA test

A week went by in a blur. Everything seemed to be happening during that week, and Damien's head was spinning.

First was the sentencing. Angelica was sentenced to 1720 years, a century for each death caused by the fire and 20 years for the initial act of arson. Damien was called to testify in her defense, essentially to conclude that he didn't actually see her do anything. Angelica glared and smirked at him throughout the trial, making him feel generally very uncomfortable. It made him feel very relieved to hear that she would be receiving life by proxy.

Second, a daytime TV show, hosted by a guy called Joey Port, agreed to have Susan, Patrick and Damien on his show to do a DNA test. The ongoing media saga had caught his eye and he desperately needed something to pull in viewers or his show would be taken off the air. And this couple, along with their supposed son, would be perfect.

Third, Damien got a job offer from the local fire department. Having a fireproof officer would prove very useful, and it paid better than Damien's current job. Naturally, Damien accepted, but not before handing his two weeks' notice at the security firm he worked for. They understood, but were happy to leave him with a little gift (mainly a bunch of gag gifts, but also a hefty severance check).

Last but not least, there was a marriage proposal, from Sammy to Damien. It was a shock, but a happy shock, and Damien accepted it immediately. Family and friends were delighted for the couple, and wedding destinations were being suggested for them.

But onto the most pressing issue, the TV appearance. All three had been contacted, and all three had agreed to come on the show. Susan and Patrick came to supposedly clear their names and gain respect for having created a hero, and Damien came because he had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Welcome, welcome, to the Joey Show! I'm your host, Joey Port, and boy, do I have a story for you!" Joey introduced, beaming. "Now, this next story is one you might have heard about from the news. Susan and Patrick, my guests here, claim that twenty-year-old Damien is their long-lost biological son!"

"Ooh!" went the crowd.

"So along with a paternity test that will be done with Damien and Patrick, the Joey Show's first ever _ma_ ternity test will be done with Damien and Susan!"

"Whoa!" the crowd yelled.

Joey continued, the billion watt smile never leaving his face. "Now, two humans having a metahuman child isn't exactly uncommon. Plenty of human parents have a metahuman child or children, and vice versa. But here's where it gets _really_ crazy. Susan and Patrick claim that Damien is the twin brother of Angelica Daniels, their daughter and the girl who was recently imprisoned for malice murder and arson."

"OHHH!" the crowd yelled. Joey continued.

"Damien had a semi-encounter with her as he helped get thirteen people to safety in the Irving Street fire." There was a round of applause. "Susan and Patrick's story is that they saw his face on TV, recognized him and wanted to get in touch. Please welcome Susan and Patrick!" The crowd applauded as Susan and Patrick came onto the stage, shook Joey's hand, and sat down onto the chairs provided. The camera cut to a video made by Susan and Patrick had made with the help of the Joey Show.

"We were very poor when we had twins, Damien and Angelica and knew we couldn't take care of both," Susan lied. "Crying our eyes out, we gave one up, and that child was named Damien and looked just like him. I remembered holding him in the hospital and he had the same horns and wings and scaly tail, but smaller because he was a baby."

"When we were older, we regretted giving him up and tried to search for him, but he'd been adopted already," Patrick continued.

"We didn't have the resources to keep looking, and had given up hope when a miracle occurred and we saw him, but all grown up. That is our son and you can't change our minds!" they chorused, looking like a sweet old couple.

The camera returned to the people on stage, and the cheering audience. Everyone was touched by the fake story. "Now, what made you want to get in contact with your possible son?" Joey asked.

"I saw him on the news and I knew it was him. It had to be," Susan replied. "It was like he was delivered to us by fate."

"We've been feeling so guilty about giving him up, so we figured that we would try contacting him once he turned eighteen," Patrick explained.

"Tell me, why did you give him up?" Joey asked. "You kept his twin sister, Angelica, but not Damien. Why?" All eyes were on the couple. Patrick decided to answer this one.

"We didn't have the money to take care of him, so we took him to an orphanage so he could have a better life," Patrick explained, lying through his teeth. "We didn't think we'd ever see him again, but then we saw him, on the news, all grown up . . ." He paused to wipe an imaginary tear away. "It was too good to pass up. We had to meet him."

"Does contacting Damien after you just lost Angelica feel . . . wrong to you?" Joey asked. Susan shook her head.

"Oddly enough, no. We disowned Angelica the moment we realized what she had done, so it's swapping a daughter for a son . . . I guess." Susan chuckled nervously as the paid audience muttered and whispered. Joey decided to cut to the chase.

"Well, I don't see why I should keep you waiting any longer. Everyone, please welcome Damien." Damien walked onto the stage, to the sound of cheers and applause. He blushed, but continued going until he reached his seat. He wore a black fedora and a trench coat that reached his ankles. Susan and Patrick noticed, but made no comment.

"Damien, pleasure to meet you," Joey greeted, also trying to overlook his guest's clothing choice. "So, let's get right to it. What do you know about this?"

"What I saw on the news," Damien admitted. "I didn't know my birth parents. My parents adopted me when I was a month old along with my brother and sister and they were all amazing. I had no idea who my real parents were and simply told anyone who asked that they had probably died. That was until I saw them on the news saying that I was the son they gave up. I saw you saying that I was your hero son. Did Angelica know she had a brother, and a twin brother at that? That's a big thing to keep from someone."

"We never told her," Susan replied.

"Has anyone ever asked about me?" Damien asked, shyly.

"We never told a soul. We were worried about being judged for giving a child up," Susan admitted. Damien nodded, before deciding to start asking the hard questions.

"Susan, Angelica looks like an angel, but I look like a devil. Is that why I was given up and she was kept with you?" Damien asked.

"No, of course not!" Patrick lied. "We were rather hard up for cash and we couldn't take care of you both."

Damien glared at him. "So you got rid of the one you didn't want?"

"It wasn't like that! Don't be so rude to us! We're your parents!" Patrick told the devil.

"Only biologically, and there isn't even any proof of that yet. I thought you were dead until a week ago," Damien pointed out. Patrick was about to lunge at his son, until the host pulled out an envelope that made the crowd go wild.

"Well, there's proof of that now," Joey boomed, as the crowd cheered. He made a big show of opening up the results slowly. "In the case of twenty-year-old Damien Prince, Patrick . . . you **ARE** the father! And Susan . . . you **ARE** the mother!" The crowd whooped and cheered, while Damien looked at them with shock. Susan grinned a smug grin.

"Well, we did say so," Susan replied, smugly. Damien let out a deep breath, and addressed his biological parents.

"OK. Now I know you're my biological parents, there are some things I wanna ask you. As my parents, will you love and accept me no matter what?" Damien asked.

"Yes," they chorus, trying to seem like good people.

"Through good times and bad times?"

"Yes," Susan promised.

"Will you be there when I need you to be? Like when I need you to defend me from angry people in the street?"

"Of course! What's the point?" Patrick was getting frustrated. So was Susan.

"What would you say to a gay man engaged to be married to his boyfriend?" Damien asked.

"We would pray for them," Susan replied.

"Pray for a happy marriage?" Damien asked.

"Pray that he comes to his senses and starts dating a woman," Patrick replied. Damien deflated upon hearing that piece of news. The crowd booed.

"I'm sorry, but I can't possibly call you my parents," Damien replied. "That man engaged to marry his boyfriend . . . is me." The crowd yelled with shock. "If you would be like that to another gay person, I'd be an idiot to think that you could be nice to me just because of blood."

"We are your mother and your father! You can't leave us like this!" Susan snapped. "You can't treat your own mother like this!"

"A mother is a woman who raises a child. A father is a man who raises a child. You didn't raise me, therefore you're not my real parents. You chose Angelica over me because she literally looked like an angel and I looked like a demon. You even named us so. Angelica the angel, and Damien the demon. Also, since I am over eighteen and of sound mind and body, you cannot go to the courts and sue my real parents to gain custody of me. And even if I wasn't, you stopped being my mother and father the moment you handed me over to the orphanage and signed the papers," Damien replied. "You have no children now."

The rage bubbled up inside Damien's biological father, and he snapped. "Fine! A social freak with weird clothes would never make a good son!" Patrick snapped. The booing got louder.

"Weird clothes, you say?" Damien repeated, a wicked grin on his face. "Then let's get rid of them, starting with this fedora!" He pulled it off his head and threw it away like it was a frisbee, revealing two horns, small, curved and sharp, growing out of the sides of his forehead. It was a surprise that they hadn't pushed the hat right off his head. His hair was the same jet black it had always been, but now it was halfway down his back and braided behind his head. "And this trench coat!" He pulled it off him, revealing that he had long, black, leathery bat wings. His 'parents' stared at him, disgusted. Underneath the fedora, he was wearing denim jeans and a rainbow shirt with the words _**I DO WHO AND WHAT I WANT**_ on it in gold. The crowd, awed at the display, cheered at his brazenness.

"Were you planning this?" Joey questioned, grinning slightly.

"You never know with a devil," Damien grinned. "Anyway, it's been a pleasure to meet you, thank you for having me, sorry you had to deal with them. I would stay longer, but now seems like a great time to leave. Bye!" Damien snapped his fingers and was . . . gone. Not even the fedora and trench coat that he had discarded on the floor were left.

"Dear Lord," Joey muttered.

"God forgive us," Susan whispered.

Patrick began to pray the Lord's Prayer out of pure terror. "Our father, thou art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . ."


	15. Conclusion

Susan and Patrick never recovered from the intense social shaming they got from videos of the daytime TV episode. People fired dirty looks at them from the street, and their old church friends didn't tell them about neighbourhood events any more, or talk to them. They weren't invited to anything, and they didn't have people over for the holidays (extended family had unofficially disowned them). They died lonely and mostly forgotten, even the media leaving them alone. Damien was right. They had no children now.

Angelica spent the rest of her natural life in prison, never knowing that she had a twin brother. She was bullied relentlessly for being an angel in a prison, and for all the innocent kids she had bullied herself once, the knowledge that she would never be free again made them think that maybe, _just maybe,_ karma was real after all. She was later featured in a documentary about murderers called _Nature or Nurture? Born To Kill._ (Damien was interviewed for this documentary.)

Sammy and Damien got married in a quiet, intimate ceremony with friends and family present, both keeping their original surnames to save confusion. Damien was a LGBT+ icon and a meme after the viral video went public. Soon afterwards, he became a firefighter and spent the rest of his working days saving people from fires and joining his work friends in their friendly rivalry against the local police department, while Sammy worked as a florist. (The cops would try and exorcise Damien, and Damien would make a trap for them with a massive cardboard box, a stick and a pile of Krispy Kreme donuts.)

Joey Port got enough ratings from that one video to keep his show on the air for another three seasons, not to mention it going viral on YouTube. After that, it came off the air, but not until his show became an utter legend because of 'that one time'.

For the victims of what would later be called the Irving Street fire, a memorial was made with each and every one of the victims' names, along with a minute of silence. A candlelit vigil was also held in memory of the dead. Damien was honoured as a hero, but he declined to accept the reward. His reward was coming home to a loving husband and an obedient dog. (Well, when he said dog, he meant hound . . . a hellhound. Yes, he summoned a hellhound from Hell to keep as a pet.)

So, that's it. Damien and Sammy live happily ever after as a married couple, living the life that they weren't supposed to have.

Susan and Patrick end up getting all the hatred and scorn they were trying to protect themselves from the whole time.

Angelica lives in prison with all the evil people she was apparently different to and better than.

Life truly is a funny thing.


	16. Afterwards - Damien

Damien and Sammy had settled into a sort of married bliss. Both of them went to work (Damien as a firefighter and Sammy as a florist), they owned a house and now had their own dog, a three-headed demonic hellhound puppy (a Rottweiler) named Cerberus. Damien's favourite thing to do with Cerberus was to let him look through a hole in the back fence and glare at the people walking by the house. What people walking by the house would see were three Rottweilers living in that person's house, and those three Rottweilers didn't like the look of them. In reality, it was one Rottweiler with three heads.

Neither Damien's job nor Sammy's would give them much free time, but when they did, they would spend all day together. They looked so sweet together, doing typical married couple things such as walking the three-headed dog together or going on picnics in public parks. Sammy could be seen carrying Damien home. Damien had been spotted pinning Sammy to a wall and kissing him witless. So sweet. So innocent. So cute.

Until you decided to mess with one of them.

* * *

"Flower boy! Oh, flower boy! Flower power, over here!" A middle-aged woman hollered at Sammy from across the road. "Take those flowers out of your hair and be a man."

"Those flowers are growing out of my head. I can't take them out," Sammy explained. "It'll be like you pulling out your hair. It would hurt me, a lot."

"Oh. I see. You're one of those mutant freaks, aren't you?" she sneered. "Is this superpower trending, huh? Gonna swap it for another? Honestly, people will have a superpower of anything these days. Why can't you just . . . pick . . ." She trailed off, staring at something behind her newest verbal punching bag.

"Ma'am?" Sammy asked, confused.

"I have to go and . . . run an errand," she muttered, as she backed away, eventually turning around and running away from the confused metahuman. Once Sammy realized what was happening, he smiled and turned around. Damien was standing behind him, conjuring fire from his palms. His normally hidden wings, horns and tail could easily be seen, meaning people were giving him a wide berth.

"Babe, how long have you been there?" Sammy asked.

"From the moment she called you flower power," Damien replied, extinguishing the fire in his hands with his mind.

"Cutie pie," Sammy replied, scratching under Damien's chin and grinned as he squealed and pulled away. "Oh, you're not going away any time soon. You are going to stay right here with me until I want to go home."

"But that would take hours!" Damien whined. "I'm not doing it."

"Shh, precious, just come with me." Sammy was quietly pleading with the stubborn devil. But he was having none of it.

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"Baby boy, please."

"No."

"Fine. So I guess I'll have to hold you the entire way there, won't I?" Before Damien could say anything else, Sammy picked him up and placed him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. From there, he carried the bratty devil around the mall like a rag doll. Like the whiny baby he was, he struggled the whole time while over Sammy's shoulder. At this point, Damien felt a set of familiar hands grope his ass, and he squealed. The blushing little devil buried his upside-down face into Sammy's back and praying that nobody they knew saw him like this.

His prayers went unanswered.

"Hey, you two! How are - what are you doing with Damien?" their old friend, Otis, asked.

"Oh, this? Damien didn't want to come with me, so I decided to simply carry the big baby with me," Sammy explained. Damien let out a quiet whine of humiliation.

"Oh, he is a little brat at times," Otis agreed.

"Clearly, I needed to teach my little antichrist a lesson," Sammy said, grabbing at Damien's ass. Damien forced a hand over his mouth as he felt his body being toyed with in public. He tried to keep his voice down and stop himself from squealing, but Sammy's fingers were trained and skilled in making him squeal and moan. "Didn't I, Damien?"

"Babe, babe, I'm sorry! Please put me down, people are staring at us, I'm so sorry," Damien babbled.

"Let me think . . . no. I actually like you like this," Sammy taunted. "I could keep you like this for hours on end, and I don't care who sees. Bye, Otis. Say goodbye to Otis, Damien."

"Bye, Otis," Damien whimpered.

"See you," Otis replied, trying not to smile at the dorky couple. He wouldn't explicitly bring this up again, but he would make sure Damien never forgot that he remembered. Damien whimpered and Sammy grinned and smacked Damien's pert ass.

"I love that whimpering sound you make when I spank you," Sammy whispered. "It's a good thing you're here with me. I have a few things to get with you in mind."

"You do?" Damien gulped.

"Of course," Sammy soothed. "You've been cranky for about a month now, ever since I came back from visiting my sister and left you alone with Cerberus. Oh, baby boy, I should have known. The signs were all there. Clearly, this is a man in desperate need of a few _special_ toys to keep him happy. And, of course, you'll need to be there."

Damien whimpered and turned crimson, hoping that Sammy didn't notice that he actually, secretly, _loved it._

* * *

Of course, Damien wasn't always the one to help Sammy. Sometimes, it was the other way around. "Damien, you need to eat," Sammy told him.

"Why?" Damien whined.

"You're sick and you need to get your strength up," Sammy replied. "Honestly, and you call me fussy."

"That's because you are," Damien retorted. "You be glad I don't have the strength to really make you suffer, and not the way you like it, either."

"You can worry about that when you're better," Sammy chided. "Now shut up and eat your tomato soup."

"Oh, is it fresh out of the can?" Damien snarked. Once he said it and saw the hurt look on Sammy's face, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. "I'm so sorry. Sammy, I'm so sorry."

"Get better soon, babe. I hate it when you get sick and snarky," Sammy sighed.

"I hope so too," Damien sighed. He let out a sneeze and sniffled, looking away from his husband. "Could you get me a hot water bottle?"

"Of course," Sammy agreed. "I'll heat one up for you."

"You're the best, babe," Damien muttered, leaning in for a kiss. Sammy pulled away.

"No, no, no. You're not kissing me until you're better," Sammy insisted. Damien pouted.

"Fine."

* * *

Three days later (with a lot of insults from Damien to Sammy) Damien was better. And now he was better, he was begging his husband to forgive his actions. "Sweetie, I'm sorry! I'm so, so, so sorry! I was so mean!" Damien wailed, snuggling his husband.

"You were sick. Lots of people are cranky when they're sick; you're not the first and won't be the last," Sammy sighed, patting his head. "Shh. It's OK. It's OK."

"But I wanna make it up to you, Sammy!" Damien insisted.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Sammy teased, drawing his husband in closer. "Well, I think I know exactly what you could do for me." Damien blushed, nodding.

"OK," Damien muttered. Sammy grinned.

"There's my good little devil," Sammy cooed, already undoing the smaller man's belt and using it to lead Damien to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. "Come on."

* * *

Downstairs, Cerberus whimpered and placed his paws over his ears about as well as he could as he heard the bed in the master bedroom creak almost rhythmically, with Damien's whimpers of pleasure-filled pain and Sammy's gentle reassuring and encouragement filling the house. He was only a puppy, but he knew what his master and his master's husband were doing. And even though he was trying to cover his ears, it was hard; not just because he was a dog, but because he had three heads and six ears. This was going to be basically impossible for the poor puppy.


	17. Afterwards - Angelica

Angelica sighed as she heard the prison guards call her number for lunch. She wanted someone out there to call her Angelica, but now she was just a number. Inmate #2125. The guards referred to her as Daniels sometimes, but everywhere she went in the prison, she heard the same nickname being used for her: Fallen Angel. The media had come up with it, and nobody had let her forget about it. Needless to say, it got on her nerves.

"Stop calling me that!" Angelica would scream.

"And what are you going to do about it?" an inmate scoffed, pushing her down to the floor and laughing along with everyone else. They were big and strong, and she was not.

It was times like this when Angelica cursed her petite figure. She had almost no muscles. Being small and frail, while useful outside of prison, was a curse when on the inside. She'd used her powers to get her way plenty of times before (she'd never needed her fists), but now, that would be impossible. She was in a specialized prison for female metahuman criminals serving life without parole, which meant that her wings were clipped (preventing her from flying) and there was a shock collar fitted to her neck that activated whenever she used her powers. Her only options were her fists, which she didn't know how to use. Laws had been passed that deemed shock collars legal for use on metahuman prisoners if deemed to be dangerous enough by the judge after a review of their powers.

Angelica had asked many times that she be put in a separate cell to the other inmates, but the answer she received was the same: that she couldn't be placed in a separate cell because there was no such separate cell, and if she got a separate cell all to herself, everyone would want one. They weren't lying. The prison was at maximum capacity and they couldn't just create another cell. Even just solitary confinement was full. And so, Angelica sighed and continued on to the cafeteria, dubbed the mess hall.

She got her food and was about to find a solitary place to sit when she found her food being taken away and her arms being held tightly. Looking up, she saw an Amazon of a woman standing in front of her. Her head was shaved and the standard black and white horizontal striped jumpsuit seemed to fit differently on her muscled frame.

"You finally caught her, then!" she sniggered, stroking Angelica's cheek with her finger. "I've heard about you, my little angel."

"Like what?" Angelica snapped.

"Like how feisty you are, and so small and weak. It's good to know that they were telling the truth," she grinned. Angelica squirmed to get away from the bigger woman, but it was no use. They were holding onto her, and tight. "She's perfect! I want her. She'll be a great little pet," the Amazon declared, to the chuckles and murmurs of agreement coming from her friends. Angelica shrieked, but nobody heard her.

"Pet?! I am not a pet, and certainly not _your_ pet!" Angelica snapped. The muscular woman shook her head, chuckling at the blonde's naivety.

"You'd be the perfect pet. Small and cute, and once I'm done training you, you'll do whatever I want you to do," her possible soon-to-be owner grinned. "Don't you know? Everyone here has a pet. Some people here, like Iron Fist-" she gestured to the angry redhead with a bionic arm holding Angelica still "have more than one. I'm the only one who doesn't, because I was looking for the perfect one. And the perfect one is . . . you."

"What?! No! I can't do it, I don't even know you!" Angelica whimpered.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. My name is Portia Summer, AKA The Amazon Commander. My followers and I robbed banks and stole cars to crash them into buildings. And you are going to be my cute little pet, to do whatever I want to. Just how did you get in here, little angel? You can't be all that innocent, since you're in jail and all." The other girls snickered.

"I set a trailer park on fire with all the trailer trash people inside," Angelica replied, doing her best to seem tough in front of Portia and her friends. Those friends looked at her with rising horror.

"You are evil, a true fallen angel. But you're also very sick, which makes me want to keep you as a pet even more . . . so I can make your life a nightmare." Portia grinned sadistically, and Angelica whimpered. "Ladies, let her go. She's mine," she ordered. Angelica's arms were released, but when she tried to get away, Portia held her and took her to an empty cell, shutting the door behind them. Angelica tried to scream, but she was gagged by a hand over her mouth.

"Shut up. You do what I say, when I say," Portia snarled. "Every inch of you is mine, and I do whatever I want with you and your body. I would've tried to be nice, but you don't deserve that. Now, you are going to hear something that nobody has ever known before. I don't just have telekinesis. I also have mind control. They just didn't catch it. Now, just listen to my voice and don't bother to resist. Nobody ever can."

Muffled screams could be heard for a few seconds, before stopping. Angelica was under Portia's control, and that would never change again. She stared up at her new mistress with blank eyes, drooling slightly.

"You will act the way you normally do most of the time, but whenever you see me, you will run over to me and kneel at my feet, willing to do whatever I say, whether it hurts you or not. You will not tell anyone what we do together, and we will soon be sharing a cell. Even if what I say is to do what another person says, you do it, because you are mine. You will call me Miss Portia no matter where we are. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Portia," Angelica droned.

"Good. Now gag yourself with something immediately. I don't want anyone to hear you."

"Yes, Miss Portia," Angelica droned, biting her tongue. Grinning, Portia let blows rain down on her pet, who muffled her screams of pain.

Exactly as she had been told to do.

* * *

Prisoners and guards alike noticed that Angelica was being much more quiet and subdued whenever around Portia and her friends, and did whatever Portia told her to do, no matter the humiliation it would cause her. Jokes were running around that Angelica was Portia's willing slave, but willing was a stretch. Whimpers could and would be heard from Angelica and Portia's cell when lights out came, and they would continue all night long. But Angelica refused to tell a soul what went on, donning a poker face that gave nothing away. Portia smirked when she looked at her slave, who would run over and kneel at her feet to be petted or slapped, depending on her mood. Angelica Daniels, the infamous Fallen Angel, was going to be imprisoned in a whole different sense, and it would last the rest of her life.


End file.
